


The Price for Betraying John Winchester

by gracemurphy



Series: Privileges Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Series, Protective John Winchester, Revenge, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:07:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracemurphy/pseuds/gracemurphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s one thing everyone knows about John Winchester - never cross him, especially if it involves his boys. Joe’s about to find out the hard way. Sequel to 'Privileges of Babysitting for John Winchester'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price for Betraying John Winchester

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to my previous story The Privileges of Babysitting for John Winchester. You’ll have to read that first to understand what is happening here. I couldn’t just leave it with the boys running away scared, they deserve some kind of justice - Winchester style. 
> 
> I’m not as happy with this as I would like to be. I feel like the boys are a little out of character but they just went through some major trauma so I guess not… I don’t know. This has actually been completed for a couple of months now but I never got around to beta it myself. Like always, if you spot a mistake let me know! Also, thank you to everyone who commented on the one previous, I really appreciate your feedback xx
> 
> Read on my [LiveJournal](http://gracemurphy.livejournal.com/1909.html)

John rolled over, turning his back to the late morning sun that stubbornly insisted on shinning in his eyes through the tiny gap in the blinds. He had a late night last night - mostly his fault, he didn’t want to believe the lead on the thing that killed Mary was a bust. He had to surrender eventually though. There was no denying it, it was a dead end. 

Caleb had left hours ago, a mumbled “I’ll talk to you later” and he was gone. John decided that he would take advantage of the rare moment of peace to actually try and catch up on some sleep - a whole seventeen years worth. He should have know that it was too good to be true though, Winchester luck and all.

A sharp knock echoed from the door, John chose to ignore it as he pressed a pillow over his ear. Whoever it was would surely get the hint and move on. He huffed loudly as it continued, again with the whole luck thing.

Okay. Okay!

He groggily climbed out of bed, grabbing the gun from under his pillow in the process. Cursing, John stumbled forwards, saving himself just in time from falling over the tangled sheets.

If this is Caleb I’m gonna-

All bad thoughts ceased up immediately as John carefully opened the door though. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Sam and Dean were both standing on his doorstep, duffles in hand. Anger started to boil his blood, John could practically feel his face go bright red and steam erupt from his ears.

“Boys! What are you doing here?” he barked, frowning disapprovingly. He still can’t quite grasp the fact that both his sons out right denied an order to stay put. His harsh tone made them flinch - John expected it from Dean, that boy was always looking for his approval but Sam, that was another story. Something wasn’t right.

John stepped back, allowing his boys to shuffle in, heads still down low. He watched as they both went immediately to sit on the made-up bed, shoulders brushing one another. He continued to glare, his anger shimmering as he clicked the door shut behind him.

John took exactly two steps forwards, harsh words on the tip of his tongue when he noticed the odd discolouring on Dean’s face. His anger flooded away to icy, cold dread, the words shrivelling up in his mouth. He thought he might black out for a moment, switching between too extremes so quickly.

No way.

“Dean?”

His eldest looked up, eyes locking onto John for the first time since they arrived and John couldn’t help but take a deep gasp of breath. Dean’s normally expressive eyes were dull, the green almost lifeless, and red rimmed. Fatherly instinct screamed at him at something was very wrong - someone has laid their grubby hands on his boy.

“Dean?” he tried again, voice getting infinitely softer, “What happened? Was it Joe?”

Dean’s eyes started to water, a sight John rarely ever saw and it tugged at his heart strings painfully. His eldest had always kept his emotions in check around him. He would be stupid to think that Dean never cried, of course he did, life was bitch - especially for the Winchester men. It was usually exclusively in Sam’s company though, not his. 

So he knew whatever it was it was more than just a petty fist fight. It had to be something more, something a lot worse. Something like - No. John’s brain ceased up, he couldn’t contemplate anything so dreadful ever happening to his boys. He wouldn’t even toy with it, he couldn’t, it had to be something else.

“Sammy,” Dean all but whispered, voice sounding painful and full of emotion, “Why don’t you go and have a shower.”“You sure?” mumbled his youngest as he continued to stubbornly hide under his bangs. They drove John insane, the urge to cut it all off while Sam slept one night suddenly coming back in full force inappropriate to the current situaiton.

“Yeah.”

Sam didn’t make a move to get up though. John just stood in front of his boys, watching as they both continued to look at one another from the corner of their eyes - having one of those silent conversations John always secretly envied. He felt dumb, like a statue, just standing there staring but he wasn’t going anywhere until he found out the truth.

“Go, you frigging reek dude,” joked Dean less-than-heartedly. It didn’t fool John and it most definitely didn’t fool Sam but his youngest followed the order nonetheless.

Dean and John continued to stare at one another, John searching his eldest’s eyes for any clue pointing to what happened and Dean purposefully kept staring at John’s shoes. It remained eerily still in the room, Sam’s departure the only movement any of them have made since coming into the small room. 

After a moment John heard the shower turn on. Okay, no more waiting. John wasn’t the most patient man in the world and it was practically killing him to not demand Dean spill his guts right-the-fuck now.

“Look Dad, I know you said to wait it out,” Dean started, “I just- I’m sorry, I couldn’t.”

“Dean, I don’t care about that anymore. I want to know what happened,” he interrupted, probably a little too harshly if Dean’s flinch was any indicator.

“Joe, he… He-“

John watched on hopelessly as his eldest broke in front of him. The unshed tears suddenly started streaming down his face, a pitiful sob wrecking its way from his throat. 

“He came into my bedroom and-” Dean tried to say, emotions becoming way too strong to continue. John didn’t need him to anyway, there was no denying it now - how much he wished he could but he couldn’t.

NO!

Tears filled John’s eyes as he rushed forwards, grabbing his eldest son by his shoulders to haul him bodily into his chest. Dean relaxed into the hold, body sagged heavily into him. John didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t take his boy’s pain away and he hated it. Hadn’t they been dealt enough bad hands enough already?

“Shh… It’s okay. You’re okay,” cooed John, a head running through Dean’s hair soothingly, “I’m here now.”

Except everything wasn’t okay. It would never be okay again. John’s boy was irreversibly hurt and there was nothing he could do to change what has been done. Grief struck him painfully in the chest, making him feel like he couldn’t breath. All he could do was hold onto Dean tighter. 

They remained like that forever, Dean eventually becoming quiet but he made no move to pull back. If anything, his eldest snuggled in closer, revealing in the rare physical comfort he was getting from John.

“Hey Dad?”

“Mm?” John answered, looking down awkwardly at the top of Dean’s head. He stilled his hand, allowing his son to pull back just enough for his voice to not be muffled.

“It wasn’t- Joe attacked Sam too.”

What? I’m going to fucking kill that bastard! I’m going to dismember him slowly, making him feel every excruciating slice after every excruciating slice. 

“Okay,” he breathed out calmly, not really knowing what else to say as anger began to boil under his sick once again.

He pulled Dean in even tighter, revealing in it for a moment longer, before he reluctantly extracted himself. He had to get all his stuff together and packed, he had to be out on the road in the next ten minutes or he was going to loose it. 

John rushed around, grabbing his journal and collected his clothes from various corners of the room. He didn’t even care that he was mixing his dirty and clean shirts, he’ll deal with that later. He spared a brief glance at Dean, just to make sure he was alright, glad to see him lying back on the bed with his arms sprawl above his head and his eyes closed. 

He continued to act like a mad man, a tornado ripping apart the room in search of every last one of his possessions. That was how he nearly knocked himself out on the bathroom door as it swung open.

Sam stared at him, surprised to see John standing right there, close enough to have nearly been hit. It was the first unobstructed view John got of his youngest’s face. He could see it now. Sam was just as broken as Dean. He was all wide, stormy eyes and pale skin. 

John knows he really fucked it up this time. He never should have trusted anyone to watch over his boys.

“Dad! Sorry, I didn’t know you would be right on the other side.”

John didn’t even register Sam’s startled apology, his close call with a broken nose already forgotten. He grabbed his son and hugged him so tight that he heard the loud breath as it was squeezed from Sam’s chest. Unlike Dean, Sam remained tense, not really sure what was happening. John has never regretted not showing his boys as much affection as they deserved as he did at that moment.

Pulling tighter, John plastered Sam against himself, not wanting to let go. It wasn’t unfair. The monster hurt one of his boys but that just wasn’t enough, was it? He had to go and get his grubby hands on both. Life was so fucking cruel.

As time ticked away, Sam only seemed to get even more tense. John actually thought he was going to pull away for a moment. Then his body suddenly sagged forwards, the unexpected weight forcing John to take a step back to compensate. Sam let out a harsh sob, burying his face into John’s shoulder.

A calming hand running through long hair didn’t seem to work on calming his youngest down like it did to Dean. As John’s shirt got even wetter, he was grasping at what to do. He had no clue on any other way to ease Sam’s pain, just enough to get him to calm down.

His plight seemed to draw Dean’s attention - thank God. From one look at his eldest’s face, John knew Dean was in mother hen mode. A worried crease grew between Dean’s brows as he shakily approached, cooing noises joining that of John’s while he tried to extract his brother.

John watched on as Sam was transferred to Dean, anger levels rising to such a height that he has only ever experienced once before - that driving need of revenge for Mary. He grabbed his stuff, slinging both Sam and Dean’s duffles over his spare shoulder. He knew they would both follow, the hint that they were leaving pretty hard to miss. 

He originally thought that driving down south would ease the red hot rage. Oh, how wrong he was. It only grew stronger with every passing mile. The image of his sons, bruised and broken, curled up asleep in the back seat, only added fuel to the fire.

Joe was a dead man walking.

* * *

John was proud of himself, he had actually managed to not punch his old hunting buddy in the face the moment he answered the door. He wanted to make him squirm first but he admittedly had doubted his own ability to not lose it on the spot.

“John! I’m so sorry. You’re boys…”

“No, no. It’s okay. They’re safe with me, sleeping in the car at the moment,” John countered, patience not really all that good at the moment. His boys haven’t stirred once since they both crashed and he didn’t really want them to wake while John was here - the less they knew about what was about to happen the better.

Joe stepped back, making room for John to step through the door. He tried not to brush against him, John didn’t really want to know how soft or hard that big, disgusting belly was. 

“Little bastards jumped me,” Joe started, guiding him through the maze of a house, “I was getting ready for bed, the next thing I know something hits me in the side of the head and then nothing - they were gone.”

John grunted, not really knowing what to say without ripping the man’s head off. If the man was as concerned about it as he was playing it off as, he would have rang John straight away, not waited around with his thumb up his arse, trying to think up an excuse.

“I thought you said they were well behaved. I mean, I’ve heard through the grapevine that Dean’s a good little solider - Sam on another hand…” Joe said accusingly, trailing off when John glared at him.

Okay, play time over. He wishes he could toy with Joe a little more, actually make him sweat, but John’s patience was nowhere near spectacular on a good day, so raged filled like he was, it had been all used up ten minutes ago. 

“Really? You’re gonna blame my boys?” he started and a trail of sweat immediately begun to make its way down Joe’s ugly face.

John smiled evilly, drawing out his blade and pressing it up against the other hunter’s throat. He stepped forward, backing Joe into the fridge, cornering him like prey.

“From what I’ve heard, you’re a pathetic creep who should have known better than to ever lay your disgusting hands on my boys!”

“John? Wha-“ Joe tried, “I didn’t do anything. They-“

“No!” yelled John, hand tightening on the knife, “Quit fucking lying to me! I know what you did and now I’m going to make you pay.”

With that, John suddenly withdraw the knife, only for split though. Before Joe could even register that he was free, John drove the sharp blade into his thigh. The other man went down with a satisfying yell. 

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen,” John said as he stalked around the downed man, “I’m going to take my knife and carve you up, just like a turkey on Thanksgiving. I’m going make you scream for what you did and when you’re begging for mercy, and will beg for mercy, I might take pity and end your pathetic, insignificant life!”

Joe tried to beg, hands held up, trying to stop the inevitable. As if he could reason with John after what he done, like he could ever be forgiven. The sooner John wiped this monster off the planet the better it would be. He didn’t wait any longer, he pounced, the knife going straight into Joe’s stomach.

He proceeded to draw deep lines up and down the man’s legs, across his abdomen and chest, creating a masterpiece of revenge. Joe however, didn’t scream just stubbornly remained silent. John’s blood started to boil again. This wasn’t enough! Nothing is ever going to be enough to make the world pay for what it has done.

“You stupid fucker!” he spat, knife plunging into Joe’s ribs, finally extracting a scream, “If there’s one thing he should have heard ‘on the grapevine’, it’s that you never ever cross me and if it involves my boys, well, you’re just adding the last nail into you coffin.”

“John! Please!”

“No!”

John continued to slice and maim, the shear amount of blood now pooled on the floor was almost comical. He swung his arm back and forward, back and forward, only stopping when his vision became blurry. 

Wiping angrily at his tears, John blinked his eyes rapidly. Joe’s lifeless body stared back up at him. There wasn’t much left, one of his arms was almost completely cut off and his face was almost unrecognisable.

Numbly, John got to his feet and started to soak all of the evidence in gasoline. He continued to splash the amber liquid down the hallway and out of the front door. With one last look behind him, John through his lighter onto the soaked porch, waiting just enough to be sure it had taken, before turning his back.

It didn’t really give him the satisfaction he had hoped. Illogically, he thought that if Joe was dead, he and his sons would somehow be okay, that this would all heal over. Yeah, as if. Long after the physical wounds healed, the mental and emotional ones would remain - probably for years to come.

Disappointed, John seated himself behind the Impala’s wheel. He leant forwards, looking out the windscreen to watch the flames dance around in the dark. It was almost hypnotising. For years after Mary’s death, fire had caused him to tremble and be overcome with grief. Now, though, now was different. Now he was at something akin to peace.

The burning house was long gone by the time Dean woke up, a confused noise escaping him before he was fully conscious. John watched him blinking sleepy in the rear vision mirror.

“Morning sleepy head,” he greeted, smiling at his eldest’s dishevelled state.

“Wha? Where are we?”

“Illinois,” said John, “An hour out of Morris.”

Dean nodded, foggily watching the scenery outside for a while before he snuggled back down into the seat, pulling Sam tighter to himself. He was completely clueless to his father’s actions just two hours before and John was relieved. He didn’t want to admit to anyone what he had just done, that he had briefly became one of the very things he’s dedicated his life to hunting. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to make up complex lies either.

Smiling contently for now, John accelerated into the horizon. What the day brings, he’ll face that then and as long as his boys were with him they would all be safe for the time being.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this gave the boys at least some of the justice they deserve. I might come back to this series in the future and deal more with the boy's dynamic again and how it has changed.


End file.
